Left alone
by JantoJO'Neill
Summary: As Watson is announcing his companion that he is going to get married, Holmes just can't handle it and is doing something stupid, something that will change everything between those two. Slash! Don't like it, don't read it.
1. Chapter 1

Heyhey =)

This is actually my second Story written in English, so please be gentle and if you find too many grammatical mistakes, then you can keep them if you like ;)

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**Disclaimer:** Neither Holmes nor Watson are belonging to me (sad enough isn't it?).

**Title: Left alone**

**Summary: **As Watson is announcing his companion that he is going to get married, Holmes just can't handle it and is doing something stupid, something that will change everything between those two.

**Slash!** Don't like it, don't read it.

**Spoilers: **This Story is referring to the 2009 movie, so if you haven't seen it until now, that's no problem, but you should surely do it! ^-^ - it's wonderful-

To the Story: It takes plays previous to the movie, or if you like, within, but then you have to change the whole Story of the movie in your mind. But I still wouldn't say that it is actually an AU, so just read through it and see it yourself.

Please enjoy:

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_Left alone_

Chapter 1

Holmes felt sick in his stomach. Watson had just announced to him that he himself was going to meet his pretty little girlfriend, the lady that hold Watsons heart, so to say and finally, after all this years, made his life complete: Mary Marston. And that Watson was going to marry her and wanted to move out, leaving him behind. Holmes had slightly gasped at that point, trying to hide the expression that would have appeared on his face if he hadn't shut his emotions down. Letting none of his truly thinking breaking free to the surface, never showing Watson his real intentions. His stomach had clenched painfully like a bad lad had kicked him to the ground and he just couldn't breath for what seemed like a long an painfully minute. He couldn't quite say what was really on his mind; it was as if it had shut down. Entirely broken. Had his heart just stopped?

"Holmes? Hey old chap, are you going to answer me?" Watson grunted out, his expression far too angry to show a slightest spark of concern. His cheeks where flushed in a lovely tone of red but not of joy but of true ambition.

That made Holmes mind click into focus and his brain finally started to work again, taking in all the tiny evidences that were shown on Watson face. He was examining every muscle, every single move that might give a clue of Watsons inside. "Indeed I am my dear fellow; it seems that you are forcing me to it."

Watson snorted and hissed a single answer in his direction. "Great!"And with that said, he left the house and banged the door on his way out. Holmes sighed deeply and he let himself drop backwards into his chair. Blindly he grabbed his pipe and fumbled longer than he normally would have had, to prepare it and to light it. It wouldn't work though, so he groaned in frustration and just dropped it to the floor.

Holmes just couldn't help his feelings. He didn't want Watson to go, to leave him alone in this house, to leave all their cases to him. Of course he could remember the time before Watson had appeared and asked to share these rooms together. But it was not comparable to the moths that had followed. How John had eagerly watched him every minute and tried to find the technique behind his easily said conclusions.

He had demanded to tell him every move and Holmes had liked it, he now said everything he was observing out loud, tried to help Watson to hang on and to observe some things himself. But it seemed that this virtue bored the taller man since recently. Some time ago he wanted to follow him and help him with new cases and wanted to take every case to learn more. Now this interest was replaced by this woman. Holmes grunted and grabbed his violin.

While he played a quick and aggressive tune, he grunted again and his vision started to get blurry before a wet stream formed on his right cheek. He just sniffed and played along, facing the ceiling, never even blinking.

Normally he always had ended his playing with a song that was for Watsons liking; now he was letting the bow cruelly scratch along, making the tones almost unbearable, even for him. But he wouldn't stop! At least that was his intention until his door opened with a loud thud and Mrs. Hudson stepped inside, a curiously and concerned look on her face. Holmes stopped his tune. This lady really had it on him, he simply knew it!

"What is it?" he snarled and faced her.

She came to an abrupt halt. "You…You are crying Mr. Holmes!" she pointed out truthfully and the concern spread on her old face. Holmes sniffed again and blinked several times. "I am not." he demanded and ducked his head, glanced silently at his hands, averted her eyes briefly. The next thing he heard were the footsteps of Mrs. Hudson which implied that the lady was on her way back downstairs, leaving him alone. And that was what he truly was now. Alone, completely alone.

And Holmes started to play again, his face wet from tears while he remained on staring at the wall, he would never admit himself to the fact that he was crying, it was just a biological function of his body or the result of his wonderful playing. His mind was turned off but equally still thinking, thousands of thoughts entered and wandered through his mind, so fast and disorganized, that he couldn't grasped one of them, they were just floating around.

He played his last scores before a loud noise resonated and the sound stopped completely, the chord had snapped and he stared at the bow. It was entirely destroyed. Holmes sobbed quietly and smashed the violin in one of the nearest corners. The impacting sound made him flinch.

He sat on his chair five or so minutes before he got finally up and his only thought in his mind ranked around the target he was aiming at. He ran quickly to his cupboard and opened three different drawers until he finally found what he was searched for. His hands were shaking violently and he grabbed the syringe which was filled with the liquid he admired so much.

He sobbed again, shortly, still trying to ignore his emotional reaction on which his body was suffering. A strand of his dark hair fell in his vision and he brushed it away, focusing on his task again.

Holmes grasped a near shirt, which was probably not even his but rather Watsons but that didn't matter at all. He started to rip it apart, snatched a streak from it and knotted it around his upper arm so that his vein became even clearer. He stared at the little line which stood out of his pale, dry skin and in which his blood was pulsing, dark and thick.

For a short second, Holmes hesitated, his mind was screaming at him to stop, to let it be. Was he really prepared? What if his dear Watson would find his body? … Watson. Would the older man even care about it, would it even bother him?

'Obviously not!' he thought and gritted his teeth before he closed his eyes and steeled his mind. He held the syringe in his hand, definitely enough to work, so he hoped. He listened to the silence that imbedded him. Outside the building a bird was chirping, the clock in his pocket was ticking and a fly made its way up to him, buzzing slightly by doing so.

He felt numb as he gripped the syringe tightly with his shaking hands. His ears went deaf and he breathed in one more time before he squeezed the syringe and brought it down, slamming it into his vein, trough his thin skin. He gasped slightly.

It felt strange as the jag hit him, more even than usual. He saw his room spinning and stumbled slightly, he should have sat down before, but he had simply forgotten it. So he fell down on the hard floor groaning lightly and blinking rapidly, while a mix of color and pictures embraced him. Holmes felt his mind reacting and the tightness left his entire body. He realized that he was smiling and sensed the sweat that was forming on his forehead.

The colors grew out and started to get brighter, aggressive. He gasped taken aback and clutched his hand around something that was lying next to him, anything. A hard pain made its way up his whole body and he choked. His whole body was shaking violently and was bathed in sweat. He felt cold, so cold and he gasped again, filling his lungs with air. He shivered and his teeth began to chatter. So cold!

As the pain reached his climax and Holmes cried out in fear, his vision began to blur and the colors faded finally. His sight grew black at the edges and slowly his body got numb. He blinked ones more, before the darkness finally took him.

'It's done', he thought, 'It's over now!'

With that thought he eventually slipped into the welcoming unconsciousness.

-tbc-

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Hope you liked it and please review =)

Greetings!


	2. Chapter 2

Heyhey=)

Sorry that the updating lasted that long, but well... I finally made it!

Thanks again for all the kind reviews and I am glad that you liked it so far. And a special thanks to my new beta-reader 'doctorcoffeegirl', who spent her precious time with my Story.

And now please enjoy the second Chapter...

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Chapter 2

Watson sighed deeply as he left the little pub and started his journey home. After the little conversation - or rather confrontation - with Holmes, he hadn't even spared a single thought of going to Mary's house. He didn't know why, but they just weren't good enough for that yet. Every time something had happened, or Watson was concerned or confused he had spoken with Holmes. He had listened to the detective's advice and suggestions and they had always helped him. But now, his concern was about the dear fellow himself, and he couldn't ask him for help.

Therefore he had asked the bottles instead. Not many of them though, just enough to keep his mind off the problem. If he thought about it all more intensively, this was possibly the best way. When the time would come and he finally moved out of the house, and the rooms he was sharing with his companion, then he too had to manage everything on his own. There wouldn't be a Sherlock Holmes around as well, who dealt with all of his lousy problems. Watson grunted at that thought; it sounded as if he couldn't do anything without this dirty man.

It was better that way, he thought to himself and pulled his collar up so that the hard wind wouldn't hit him anymore. His hands were freezing, even through his gloves and above him, clouds were darkening the sky. It would rain soon and he had to reach his home in time.

He was unable to make head or tail out of Holmes reactions. What was it with that man anyway? He should be happy that Watson had finally found a young woman, that _he_, the younger man, had the rooms all to himself now and could play his violin at all the times he wanted. Although Mrs. Hudson thereby would go insane but to be honest it was a wonder that that hadn't happened until now!

The poor woman.

So why was his old chap complaining anyway?

Watson shook his head slightly and turned into the street in which he was living.

He entered the house quietly, stepping inside and almost making no sound, but he knew for sure that Holmes had heard him enter. He half expected the younger man to start playing his violin to express his aggressive feelings and ignorance, so that Watson could hear it. But the house remained as quiet as it was…It was almost too quiet for his liking.

He was half up the stairs as a soft voice resounded at the lower end of the stairs. It was Mrs. Hudson; she looked more concerned than he had ever seen her before and her eyes glistened in the semi darkness.

"What have you done?" she asked softly.

"I am not certain what you are referring to." Watson answered and stopped mid track. What had Holmes done or said? "Please follow me into the kitchen…" was everything he gained as a reply. So he followed her silently. She sat down at one of the tables and gave him a concerned look again. "He was crying Dr. Watson!" she whispered and stared at the ceiling. "You know, he never admitted it of course, but I saw it with my own eyes and Doctor, I have never seen him crying, never!"

Watson held his breath. He hadn't either. "Well it was nothing Mrs. Hudson, I promise." He fairly whispered and averted her eyes.

"Do not you play that game with me Doctor, if you don't want to talk about it, that's fine with me, but it is indeed 'something' Dr. Watson, you can't deny that."

Watson nodded lightly and sighed. "I will go upstairs then and talk to him" he breathed and raised himself up.

"I am not certain if that is the right choice." Mrs. Hudson said, facing floor.

"Me neither." Watson answered and made his way back to the stairs and up to Holmes room.

He couldn't believe that that was Mrs. Hudson had said was indeed true. And he too wasn't sure why their conversation had gotten such a reaction. Maybe this all was just a product of another drug injection…

So he made his way to his fellow's room and knocked on the wooden door. Gaining no answer, nor any other reply, he knocked again but that didn't change a thing, so he decided to enter, although he had hesitated a second or two.

He grasped the door handle and slowly opened the door. Silence greeted him and he stepped into the chaos that his companion insisted on living in. "Holmes?" He croaked and his eyes darted around, searching for any sign that could give him a clue.

And there he was, lying on the ground in the middle of the room. No rare sight as Holmes often slept there, but right now, the sight that greeted him sent a shiver down his spine. Holmes lay there, face up and bathed in sweat. His hair was plastered to his forehead, his eyes were closed and in one hand there was a syringe standing out, forming a hard contrast to his pale skin.

Watsons caught his breath and froze in mid step. "Holmes?" He gasped and ran to his fellow's side. "Holmes!" He repeated and clapped on the younger mans cheek, but nothing happened. "Crap!" Watson spat out and felt for a pulse, it was barely there, fluttering and fast but also far too weak for Watsons liking. He lifted his friend from the floor with one hand while he still kept on clapping his cheeks with the other. "Come on Holmes, my friend, speak to me!"

With shaking hands, he embraced the younger man, lifted him up completely and carried him to the bed. His breath came out in harsh gasps and his hands started to sweat. "Mrs. Hudson!" he cried out and hoped that the old lady had heard his croaking voice. Holmes body was slightly shaking and overheated, his skin was hot and dry and his eyelids fluttered lightly.

The wooden door opened with a loud bang and Mrs. Hudson came in, froze immediately and clasped her hands in front of her mouth. "What happene…" but she came not further as Watson interrupted her. "Bring a bowl with cold water, a cloth and some morphi..." He paused. "... Stop, ignore the last one and please hurry up!" he cried out.

He couldn't give his dear friend some morphine since Holmes was also addicted to it and he actually used the cocaine because he wanted to wrest himself from it.

That fact made things difficult.

"Holmes! Come on, wake up." Watson grunted and jolted Holmes slightly; he was just hoping that the amount of cocaine his companion had taken wasn't life threatening even if it was surely too much and very dangerous.

But Holmes was still alive and … '_And he just had to survive this' _Watson thought bitterly and bit his lip.

He just had to.

-tbc-

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I hope you liked it an please review :)


	3. Chapter 3

Heyhey =)

I am very sorry that the update lastet that long...but real life caught me at last ;)

So well.. I wish you all a (belatet) merry Christmas! And thanks again for all the lovely Reviews and a special thanks for my Beta: doctorcoffeegirl!

Have fun!

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Chapter 3

Watson fumbled around at Holmes braces, unclipped them, and threw them away. He then took hold of the younger ones shirt and ripped it open, destroying it by doing so. Then Watson stumbled off the bed to take his medical practitioner's case. He grabbed his stethoscope and leaned again over his old companion.

At that precise moment as he noted the quickened heartbeat, Mrs. Hudson came back, running to his side, bowl and cloth in hand. "What happened?" She asked fearfully, repeating her former question. Watson remained quiet. He needed to shut his emotions down, like Homes did; he had to save his comrade, his friend.

So he concentrated again at his task at hand.

"Holmes!" he whispered again, but he earned no reply. Sweat had formed on his companion's forehead and his eyelids fluttered wildly, his long, black eyelashes flew up and down above them.

His face was paler than the pillow beneath him and even his cheeks, which were normally tinged in a wonderful tone of red, were now grey and dry.

"Mrs. Hudson! Search for the Syringe." Watson cried and felt again the far too quickened pulse.

"He is running a temperature." He told himself and grabbed the cloth, dipped it into the cold water and began to wash his friend's body. Slowly, but also eagerly, he was rubbing it above the dry skin.

The heat radiated from the younger ones body and Watson bit his lip.

"The Syringe is empty!" Mrs. Hudson cried out and brought it with her, as she stepped next to him. "Give it to me!" The doctor said promptly and grasped after the syringe and stared at the large item. "Crap…" he muttered and examined the device.

"If we are in luck…" He began, holding the syringe with shaking hands."This one wasn't entirely filled."

Mrs. Hudson sighed deeply and a tear escaped from her eyes. "This shouldn't be happening!"

"It is my fault…" Watson breathed, still bathing Holmes, checking once again the too weak but far too quick pulse. "It is indeed my fault."

"That is not true Doctor!" Mrs. Hudson replied and covered Watson's right hand with one of hers.

"It surely is." Watson said; his eyes blank and his long fingers hastily gliding the cloth over his friend's forehead and chest.

What had he done?

Or better, what had Holmes done to himself?

Or could it have been an accident?

Watson snorted, Holmes couldn't do mistakes; he was perfect. He would have noticed the overdose even with closed eyes, by counting the seconds, examining the speed and amount of time the cocaine would take to enter his veins; by the shrinking in weight of the syringe; by the pressure and the feeling of the drug entering his system. He would have known the amount he had taken and he would become aware of the fact that it was too much.

Watson knew his dear friend too well to even think of the fact, to believe that this was just a foolish mistake.

But this terrible fact made it even harder and Watson's heart hurt. A single tear made its way done his reddened cheek, even though he had tried to prevent it from falling.

How could the younger man do such a thing to himself? How could he even think of taking his life? Had he thought that nobody would care? That nobody would notice and the things would go on as always?

Why hadn't Holmes thought of him?

Watson bit his lip and clapped Holmes cheek again, knowing too well that this wouldn't wake him.

Even now, he was desperately hoping that his old friend would finally wake, smiling at him with his marvellous, incredible and charming smile, running his thin, long fingers through his dark, thick wavy hair, darting his lightning eyes over Watson, making the older man tremble.

It was always these normal moments, the glances that the younger one gave him nearly every morning, which took Watsons breath and speech away.

But now he was lying in front of him, so wasted and drained and winded and his face was stricken with pain, tense and restless.

Watsons' heart skipped a beat.

He couldn't stand that look any longer.

He once more filled the cloth with new, ice cold water, as suddenly, Holmes' whole body twitched and shook. Mrs. Hudson screamed lightly and stepped back.

"He is going into a seizure!" Watson cried out and tried to hold the younger man down, preventing his companion from hurting himself. He was trembling so hard, it made the whole bed shake, his eyes were slightly open and covered with a grey veil and his lips were half parted.

"Good God…my Lord… Doctor… help him, make it end!"

Watson forced back tears and remained on holding Holmes down.

He couldn't do a thing.

-tbc-

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I hope you liked it and please Review!


	4. Chapter 4

Heyhey =)

Well.. fitrst of all: gay.M.I

I apologize that I actually used the word 'Crap' in this Story, but as I already mentioned in the first chapter that this is my second Story written in English. Well I am German, and I am sorry, but I really didn't know that this word was made up years later in the English language. Of course it too, attracted my attention as I wrote it, but I thought it could have been used at that time .. unfortunately... it wasn't .. =(

So well.. I apologize again.. but well back to the Story!

I know this chapter is reaally short and I am sorry (again *sigh* ) .. but I promise you, the next one will be longer! =)

So. and now.. pleade enjoy!

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Left alone

Chapter 4

"Holmes!" Watson cried out, frustrated.

"Mrs. Hudson, would you please pass me that handkerchief over there?" the Doctor rasped and remained on pressing Holmes down, preventing him from hurting himself, or anyone else.

The landlady went to the table on which the object has been placed and rushed back to Watson's side in an instant. Her hands were slightly shaking as she held the cloth out.

"Put that into his mouth!" Watson grunted under effort of holding his friends body.

"But…" The landlady began and her hands shook harder now.

"Please, part his lips and put it into his mouth, he could hurt himself."

It took some time until Mrs. Hudson finally made some progress. She had pressed the cloth between Holmes' dry lips, who moaned under his chattering teeth, which were now deeply buried into the handkerchief.

"Don't you dare do that to me!" Watson suddenly groaned and clutched his hands to his comrade's sides, pressing him down as hard as he could, but trying to be gentle at the same time.

"Doctor!" Mrs. Hudson cried and fumbled around with her furbelowed dress, nervously.

"Get out!" Watson mumbled as a reply, while Holmes shook beneath him, trembling and moaning desperately.

"Please!" Mrs. Hudson breathed.

"I said get out!" Watson screamed and his friend's body just would not stop shaking.

Mrs. Hudson understood that she couldn't do a thing and so she nodded and took a few steps back, ever so slowly, because she still wanted to help. But as Watson once more turned around and glared at her with wide opened eyes, stricken with fear, she flinched and stepped out of the room, closing the door quietly on her way out.

Watson then grunted out a frustrated groan and made a decision. He jumped on the bed, laying himself across the smaller ones body, tried to protect him with his own bodyweight, shielding him from his own kicking and trembling moves.

It just wouldn't stop.

Watson gave into his emotions, and grew angry. All this, just because Holmes couldn't resist his genius brain, his fancy of leaving this world and his comrades behind him; all this because he had done this stupid thing, had taken this overdose.

And now Watson had to pay for it; had to make sure, that his dear friend wouldn't succeed.

"Breath!" he grunted between curses, making sure that Holmes' airway was free, even with the cloth in his mouth.

He screamed at his comrade to stop shaking, to come back and stop this stupid game. He pressed himself even deeper on the smaller body beneath him, praying for the tremors to stop, and for Holmes to be able to hear him.

And as he did so his throat got sore from screaming and yelling, while tears streamed freely down his face, the shaking ebbed away, leaving the younger man's body wary and worn.

Watsons breath hitched, his hands still clutched around the thin writs, creating bruises beneath them. He grunted out a harsh groan and let himself sag down on top of his companion, who was now obviously unconscious. He lay there not for long though, making sure that Holmes chest was rising and falling in a good manner, he raised himself up and sat beside his friend, removing the handkerchief and let it slide to the ground.

Watson then grabbed again the cloth that still lay in the washbasin. The water had almost grown Luke-warm and he sighed, while he laid it on Holmes' sweat soaked forehead.

He then got up, ever so slowly and made his way to the door, yelling at Mrs. Hudson to please bring him some new ice cold water and cloth.

As he finally turned back around, he stared at his companion, who still lay there, pale and motionless as if he was dead.

Watsons stomach turned and he stormed towards the bed as fast as he could, pressing his fingers against Holmes pale throat and holding his own breath.

There it was, a small pulse, still far too weak, but it was there!

And Watson would do everything to prevent that from stopping.

-tbc-

I hope you liked it and please review.. thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

Heyhey =)

So here is the next chapter. Thanks again to all of you! And a special thanks goes to my beta-reader 'doctorcoffeegirl'

So now please enjoy ;)

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Left alone

Chapter 5

After Holmes' breath had settled down and the Consulting Detective had slipped into a fitful, nearly restless sleep, Watson himself had grown tired. He continued to stroke Holmes hair, caressing the black strands. He wasn't thinking about the fact that this gesture might appear lightly odd if somebody had walked in at this moment.

Unconsciously he had laid himself down next to his friend, curled his body around the smaller one, just like his finger had curled around his hair.

The stress and tension had taken its toll and slowly the older man slipped into a light sleep, resting his forehead against Holmes's, his hand above the steady rising and falling chest of the old fellow, checking the respiration while his mind accepted the desperately needed rest.

They both laid there for about an hour.

Mrs. Hudson had not entered the room in the mean time. She was a good old trained room maid and knew when to enter and when not. The silence that greeted her, as she stepped in front of the old wooden door, gave her the feeling that her appearance would not be required. And so she had returned to the kitchen, preparing some tea.

Her hands were shaking nervously. She had not heard any crying noises or whimpering sounds, but she nevertheless could not be entirely sure, if Sherlock Holmes was still alive.

But on the other hand, she was certain that Dr. Watson would have informed her if a tragedy had indeed occurred. Her breath hitched, but she knew, that even if he was not okay, the doctor was the best man around that she could have hoped for. So she stood in front of the stove, her thin fingers still trembling violently and closed her eyes, hoping for the best.

In the mean time, Holmes head lolled from side to side, sweat was still forming on his forehead and he moaned slightly. But after a little while, he settled down, resting his head on Watsons' broad shoulder and puffed air out of his weak lungs, forming some foggy clouds in the cold air around him.

His mind was foggy and unfocused.

Where was he?

What had happened?

He wanted to open his eyes, but he felt too tired, too wrecked. His eyelids were far heavier then they should have been and his lungs and airways were so sore, it made him cough.

He could not concentrate his mind on any facts, could not observe his surroundings. And that made him nervous. He needed control over his bodily functions, over his brain.

His mind was far too clouded for his liking and memories were incomplete.

He had to regain the control; he had to observe his proximity.

He was lying on a warm ground, a woollen one; he was lying on a bed, his bed, he noticed the saggy mattress, the cushion and the feeling of the duvet cover beneath his fingertips. He was in his own room; he smelled the tobacco scent he had smoked, the low atmospheric humidity, the dust and the perfume of Mrs. Hudson, which the nanny always brought with her.

He noted also that it was night, as the amount of noise outside was low, meaning that nearly no human being crossed the streets and no harsh light was pressing on his eyelids. It was most likely 4 o'clock in the morning, for the reason that he heard the small and quiet noises of the baker across the street as he prepared the dough for his buns and bread and he could not have done that for long, because his wife had not yet joined him in the bakery downstairs to help him with the work.

They were a good team, those two people, and he almost envied them for that.

But anyway, something still bothered him, now that he had observed his settings and also the state he was in.

That was:

He had a slight fever, almost gone now, but it had been worse.

His pulse was too fast and unsteady, his heart was beating in an unnatural manner and his fingers were trembling.

His head felt like it would burst every minute.

He must have hyperventilated, because his throat and lungs felt sore and his lips were far too dry.

It also could have been that he had not drunk anything for a great amount of time.

He had used a syringe of cocaine on himself, he noticed as he felt the slight burning at his lower arm, where the needle had entered his vein.

His clothes were sweat soaked and he stank, but that was not important right now.

Something was covering his chest, a warm hand, his head was lying on a man's shoulder and he could feel another body next to him, his skin against his own, dry one.

And he smelled this special scent, the one he could always differentiate from all the others. He smelled and felt who the men was, who lay beside him, in his own bed, in his messy room, at 4 o'clock in the morning.

And though he had registered that fact first, had noted it before he had observed his surroundings, he still had not moved. Had not removed his head of that shoulder or had twisted himself out of the firm grip of his comrade - he was in a far too weak state anyway.

He just lay there, listening to the regular breathing of his old friend and inhaled his scent.

How he had missed this.

Had missed his dear friend.

John Watson.

But why was he lying next to him? What exactly had happened?

Again he coughed, his lungs felt like they were filled with dust instead of air! The taller body beside him twitched slightly and a small moan escaped the mouth above him. Holmes went stiff and listened to the following events.

First he imagined how Watson blinked. Once, twice, then the realization finally hit and he felt Watsons body jerk and more air then probably needed was sucked into the older man's lungs. Then a short groan and Watson was half up and off the bed in less than a second, as Holmes grabbed Watson's hand, tugging at it.

The Doctor gave such a murderous flinch that Holmes own heart skipped a beat.

"Wa'son?" Holmes slurred, "What 'appened? " He croaked, sounding as innocent as possible.

"You asking me what happened? I should ask you that myself!" Watson cried out, his face stricken with anger, hurt and… and guilt! Holmes frowned.

Had he done something wrong?

-tbc-

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Hope you liked it and please review =)


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